


5 AM

by Ceminar



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Anxiety, Anxiety Attacks, Drinking, Gen, Gender Confusion, Panic Attacks, Self-Doubt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-23
Updated: 2015-01-23
Packaged: 2018-03-08 19:07:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,059
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3220094
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ceminar/pseuds/Ceminar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It had been a fairly decent day... So why do nights like this have to happen?</p>
            </blockquote>





	5 AM

**Author's Note:**

> This is pretty much just a vent writing that ended up being projected onto Equius. I've been told it hits... Kinda close to home, with hints at confusion at gender identity, feeling like a burden, not knowing what's going on with yourself, or how to cope with it all of that. So... Just a fair warning I suppose...

Breath.

Just breath.

You repeat those words in your head. Over and over and OVER again, but it does no good. You can't. Not really. Each breath you take just feel so wrong and you don't know why. Your arms tremble, and you don't know why. Tears well in your eyes, just shy of falling and you don't know why.

Wrong. Everything is wrong. Yet nothing is wrong. Nothing is ever wrong. You live the perfect life, after all. You have friends, wonderful friends.

Online.

You have a loving family that cares deeply for you, but you never feel like you can talk to them.

You don't even feel like you can talk to anyone now. It's almost 4am after all, when the attack hits. You think it's an attack, but you're never sure about these things. What's anxiety? What's panic? It's all those things your friends talk to you about, but you're never sure if you ever actually feel them. Because you have nothing to complain about.

Ever.

At least that's what the family says. Your friends say. Look at you, you have the perfect life. Such long, beautiful hair, a caring, understanding brother, a STRONG father figure. They provide for you, they love you. They leave you with nothing to worry about.

So why now? Why, as the clock ticks to 3:50 in the morning, do you sit there, struggling to breathe? To keep the tears from falling, nose from running? Why do you sit there, shaking, rubbing at your arms to stop them from shaking? Why do you futilely search through your contacts for someone, anyone to interact with, only to feel your heart seize more, to feel it looped round with rope far too STRONG for you to break, and pulled to the ground?

You want to speak to someone.

But who?

Do you bother your best friend? Are they even still awake? 3:53, and their icon shows offline. No.... You continue to search. Them? No. Them? No.

Again and again you look, click, consider before shaking off the though. You don't want to bug any of your friends. You don't want them to worry. You are far too STRONG to break down, to need anyone.

At least... You tell yourself that. You tell yourself you don't need the contact. You don't need the attention. Carefully, you removed those cracked glasses from your face, set them aside as you rub at your eyes, feeling tears fall free at the motion.

Fiddlesticks.

Breathe.

You try, and it doesn't get any easier. Your chest feel constricted, your hands still shake as you log onto the blog she had you make ages ago for the umpteenth time that evening. That morning.

3:58, and a post catches your deep blue eyes, but without your glasses, you have to squint to see. Someone you admire, look up to, is asking how their followers night/day is going. You hesitate, something a young... person... Of your standing would normally never do. Do you approach them? You do wish to speak with someone after all.

Yes, you decide. But not on that post. You go to their page, prepare to type a message.

“I do not even know how my night is going, tbph” You start, using abbreviations normally frowned upon by yourself so as not to be recognized. A faceless anomaly is what you are...

Faceless...

“I wish to speak to people, but i don't wish to speak to people but no one wishes to speak to me and i just feel... i dont know, empty? Lonely?”

Good... Foregoing the usual formal language, mannerisms, quirks picked up over time to further become that nobody, that nothing you feel like. They don't know you, they shouldn't care, and you don't want them to. But... Well, you somewhat do?

“I'm almost in tears here and it's just... I do not know what to do... I want to drink,” A pause as you remember your fathers hidden bottle of liquor. None of your family can drink, to be honest. Your father feels light headed after a few glasses of wine, your brother after a single one. You yourself can't remember the last time you indulged, if ever, but you know its there, in case someone visits your elder. “I can't sleep, and my breathing is just like 'Ha, no.'. I just don't know what's wrong with me tonight and I don't like it. However im feeling, I don't want it anymore. I wanna feel something, but I don't wanna feel-”

Surprised, you look over at the red -0. It would appear the character limit has been reached. A swear actually passes your lips then, as you read over it.

Yes, that's perfectly anonymous. Ignoring the tears, your horseshoe shaped cursor hovers over the button. One click. Just one, and it'll be sent. You'll have that person to talk to, someone that can tell you what's wrong. Why your arms continue to shake, why your eyes continue to water and your breath catch with every other inhale.

Yes, you say, you can do this. You will do this.

But you don't.

With a groan, you run your fingers through that beautiful hair, push it out your face, pull at it, as you think about ripping it out, as you think about cutting it off as you're suddenly sick of it. Your eyes squeeze shut, sending tears trailing down your face, soon followed by a bead of sweat, then another, and another.

You can't do this. You can't send this to them. It's not their problem. It's no ones problem, no one but your own.

But you can't just erase that message, either. Highlighting it, you copy it, paste it into a word document, hastily typing out a title.

Stupid stupidstupit

Unable to bring yourself to care for the type, for anything, you save it. Look at the time.

4:17 AM.

It's too late. Too late to tinker, but you don't think you would be able to anyway. Too late to call someone, they're all sleeping. But it's too early to go out, to run, to lift, to be active without fear of waking or worrying anyone in the house.

4:18 AM.

Darn it. You push yourself away from the desk. Just one drink. That's what you tell yourself. Father won't be up for another 32 minutes. Quietly as you can, you slip down the stairs, watching the ones the creak and slip into his office. With still trembling hands, you pull open his desk drawer, wrap your fingers around the bottle. Something gold rum.

You don't think about it. The seal has been opened, from the last time someone called upon Mr. Zahhak in his home, and you pop it again. When the smell hits you, your nose wrinkles in disgust, however there's no backing out now. You take a breath, bring the bottle to your lips.

Gulp.  
Gulp.  
Gulp.

With a disgusted sigh, you cap it, slide it back into place like nothing happened. This is your reminder as to why you don't drink. It's disgusting and unbefitting of such a high class... Whatever you are....

Right... Getting to your feet, you're reminded once again that you have been rather confused as of late. Though tonight, nothing feels right, you've often found yourself with somewhat unsettling thoughts. What are you? Who are you?

You know your name, Equius Zahhak, proud member of the Zahhak family, but... At times, you don't feel like the proud son of Mr. Zahhak, brother of Horuss.

Staggering to your feet, the liquor still on your tongue, you try to shake those thoughts away. Of all things, you don't need that at the moment. Instead, you creep back to your room, turning off your computer and curl up in your bed, the only light being the cracked screen of your phone as you once again find yourself going through contacts.

4:25 AM. And still no one you wish to talk to. Like your message said, you want to talk, but you don't want to as well. Because what would there be to say? You feel ready to break someones spine, but at the same time, you just want something.

4:31 AM and you close that application, instead, trying for some mind numbing game, eat a few of the dark chocolates around your room in hopes that something will work.

But your arms are still unsteady, your legs following now. The rum only adds the barest of haze to your thoughts, like when your vision drifts for that split second and you glimpse something just past the edge of your glasses only reversed. The peripheral thoughts clouded that would be clouded are in sharp focus, unknown but hanging over you, while everything else that could possibly be thought of clear as day, feelings, actions, anything, are distant and muddled.

4:37 AM.

Your phone goes off just as you put aside the game, and you can't help but be surprised. It's your best friend, though their familiar greeting, the text color and quirk that normally pulls a smile from you does nothing as they ask why you're still up, if you're okay.

You have a choice. Tell them everything. Let the tears finally fall. Let your breath catch and choke you. Let your heart continue to be roped and pulled into a dark stable and left there until it's time to be broken, time to be 'normal' again when it just wants to go back to how it was, let the shaking stop finally.

Or lie. Either pretend to be asleep, or tell them everything is fine. Continue to fight with yourself, that losing battle because you don't want anyone to worry, least of all them. They don't deserve to be burdened with your issues. You are STRONG. You can shoulder this. You can shoulder anything.

You pick the latter. Forgoing the playful banter, and tell them you're just about to go to sleep. When they sound disappointed, you worry your lip with your teeth.

They felt like something was up with you and were worried. They wanted to check on you.

When they ask if you're sure, you can barely see as you type out that yes, you are. That everything is fine and you just woke up and was getting comfortable again before returning to your slumber. Everything is fine, you tell them again, and you aren't sure they believe you when they say 'Alright'.

No quirk. No... nothing...

Your body is shaking now, entirely. You're squeezing your phone almost too tightly as you tell them good night, that you'll talk to them tomorrow.

4:46 AM, and they sign off. You linger, type up an apology, an excuse.

“Please... I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. Talk to me. Say something, anything. I am... Confused. I am hurt and I do not know why. Please, don't leave me alone like this.”

4:47 AM, and the message is deleted without sending. You sign off, gingerly place the device on your nightstand before hugging one of your pillows to your chest and let out a sob.

You're crying. You hurt all over.

No. Not hurt. You don't feel anything, actually. Just cold and numb, body shivering even under your blankets. This has to stop. This has to. You don't cry. You don't shake. You don't lie to your friend.

But you are. And you did. And when you hear your fathers alarm go off at 4:50 AM, you bite down on the inside of your cheek to ensure your silence. You can't risk being heard in this too quiet house, and you wouldn't know what to tell him if he asked what was wrong. No... You hear the alarm go silent, the sounds of him rousing and begin preparing for the day and you lay there and shake and cry and try to breath as you mind clouds with questions and swears and wonder why this is happening to you. As you wonder... What's happening to you...

It's 5:00 AM. And whatever it is that gripped you tonight finally lets you fall into an uneasy, unrestful slumber, unsure as it if these non-thoughts, these non-feelings will plague you once again when you wake.

And it had been such a good day, too.


End file.
